


The Usual Suspect

by kieyra



Series: The Enemy You Know [1]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kieyra/pseuds/kieyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When dealing with an opponent who may be smarter than you, it's best to let them think themselves to death. Written February 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Usual Suspect

***

    You don't have to be a cop's kid to know there's something strange about Weevil's arrival at school on Monday.

    It isn't just that his motorcycle is nowhere to be seen; it's not because he's driving a _car_ instead.

    It's that the car he's driving is a Corvette.

    A late-model Corvette, no less, with a cobalt-blue paint job that shines like new glass in the weak morning sunshine.

    It's a real attention-grabber as it rolls through the parking lot; the in-your-face paint job and the ornate chrome mags do nothing to grant the car any subtlety. Neither does the olive-skinned driver in his shades and leather jacket. And anyway, Corvettes are surprisingly uncommon here: most _09er_ kids have reached such rarefied levels of adolescent consumerism that they would hardly be seen driving a mundane domestic number like that.  Their tastes run to imported luxury sedans, expensive sport vehicles--and if one absolutely has the need for speed, what's wrong with a Porsche?

    American sports cars, Veronica knows, possess a certain lottery-winning, drug-dealing tackiness--to people of a certain income bracket.  Not subtle at all.

    Speaking of subtlety.  Veronica turns away.  Once people catch you staring, the game is up.  And Weevil, with his street-bred nerves, is more observant than most.

    And as she walks on towards class, she hears the Corvette idle through the lot behind her; feels it in her stomach as the engine rumbles along in its distinctly non-European way.

***

    Veronica sleeps though first period, but during second period her mind turns back to the mystery at hand.  As her mind is fucking wont to do.

    She has a lot of reliable intel on Weevil.  She considers him a business associate, so of course she's totally checked up on him.  Helps to avoid nasty surprises.  She knows a lot of things he doesn't _know_ she knows--and that's the name of the game.  Stuff you just can't find on your basic background dossier, like how he got his nickname (a disappointing anecdote, really), and his sad parental history (more than a match for her own).

    More importantly, she knows the rough bluebook value on his bike--whatever he's done with it--and she can make a fair guess at the kind of money he makes while mostly attending high school and _mostly_ staying out of trouble with the law.

    She knows he has no established credit.  That one is easy.  Scary, how simple it is to get someone's social security number.

    All of which adds up to: How the hell did _Weevil_ get his hands on a forty-thousand dollar car?

    Veronica rejects the obvious conclusion, that he simply ganked it somewhere--when the Weevils of the world boost a sweet ride like that, it goes straight to the chop-shop.  They don't drive it to school the next day.

    So figure it's legit, or something close.  Veronica idly calculates the monthly insurance payments on a seventeen-year-old male driving a two-door sports car with a V8 engine and over four hundred horses, and figures it's about as much as the rent Dad pays on their seaside apartment.

    She knows some non-09er kids who work long hours and put literally all their money into fancy cars they can't really afford, because it's the only way they can shore up their self-esteem in this land of haves and have-nots.

    Weevil doesn't seem the type to have self-esteem issues. 

    Besides, how can you be the leader of a bike club with no bike?

***

     Getting the tags on the Corvette is a trivial matter.  It's a joke.  You just pretend to get something from your car during lunch, and you make a point of passing behind the suspicious vehicle on your way back through the lot.  Memming a license plate number is cake, hardly the kind of thing you need to write down and be all obvious about.

    It's practically not even spying.  The information is out there, publicly, and what you do with it privately is your own damn business.

    One of the side perks of Dad's brief re-acquaintance with the Sheriff's office is that Veronica was able to swipe the newest passwords for the DMV; no more awkward phone calls.  Online is so much easier, and she can do it from the computer lab at school.

    She logs in, maneuvers to the appropriate menu, taps in the tag number.

    And is somehow not surprised to see that the 2003 Chevrolet Corvette, VIN number 1Z398442340985404, is newly registered to one Eli Navarro.

    She thinks and thinks about it for the rest of the day, until finally it pushes a whole slew of bigger matters out of her mind.

    She knows she can't just come out and ask: _Where'd you get the new ride, homeboy?_

    Because this isn't a business matter, and in personal dealings being too direct gives away too much.  People can learn a lot about _you_ from the questions you ask.  Veronica never wants anyone to know anything real about her ever again.  And no matter how badass-blond-chick she acts around Weevil, and as cooperative as he's been lately, he can still be unnerving when he stares you down.

    Nice eyes, Eli Navarro has; Veronica's always thought so.  Pretty eyes and a smile that could make a girl of lesser resolve go all fluttery inside. But he's got this habit of radiating aggression in every move he makes, and Veronica is too smart and too world-weary to find that appealing.  Never mind that the merest suggestion _out loud_ that he had pretty eyes would make her father's head explode on the spot.  From three states away.

    Mostly she feels she has the upper hand with him.  But she damn well keeps her distance, always has, except when they have business dealings, or when Weevil gets himself crosswise of some 09er fiasco.  Which, to be honest, he's got a knack for doing.

    Bottom line, no way should she be getting involved in this Corvette situation--when it doesn't affect her and doesn't bear at all on her long-term interests.  It isn't like he's done anything illegal.  That she knows of.  She doesn't even know why she's given it more than the two spare neurons it deserves.

    But it's a mystery, dammit. 

    And she never has learned how to leave well enough alone.

***

    Veronica sees Weevil walking away as she's leaving school that afternoon.  She can't tell for sure--does he look _nervous?_ He's fidgeting with his keys, spinning them around his index finger;  frowning and glancing this way and that as he walks down the steps, like he's expecting incoming fire.

    She'd like to go up to him, try out some casual banter on him; nothing about the Corvette, just kinda feel things out. But he's flanked by Felix and a couple of the other PCH biker proto-criminals. If she tries to talk to him about non-biz matters in front of them, she's pretty sure that Weevil will have to follow some unwritten code of thug behavior and blow her off. These boys have their reps to think of, after all. She's just a _chick._

    It's enough to make you want to roll your eyes right out of your head.

    But she owes Weevil basic consideration for his position. So she just nods at him. He returns the nod, throws some little hand-sign she can't interpret--could be _call me,_ _surf's up,_ or possibly _I worship satan--_ and allows the barest hint of a smile her direction.

    Then he puts on his new, Corvette-driving shades and keeps walking.

    So she's got nothing.

***

    It's pretty much the same thing all week. He drives the Corvette to school every day, and every day Veronica can't come up with a good excuse to pry. And it's almost like he's avoiding her now: she keeps catching glimpses of him turning a corner, or walking into a class they don't share. Or driving away.

    She listens in the girls' bathroom, and she listens in the hallways, and she listens at lunch. No one is talking about it. She asks around, as discreetly as she can; no one knows where or how he got the car.

    The next step is obvious: routine surveillance.

    Thursday night, Veronica sits in the Le Baron a block and a half from the Navarro house. She listens to bad AM radio--the better to stay awake to. It is after nine, and nothing at all has happened for the three hours she's been watching.  But diligence is the price of information.  It's when people deviate from their usual routine that you catch them out, so figuring out their routine in the first place is crucial.  This is as exciting as watching nail polish dry, but it's time well invested.

    The pretty blue Corvette is parked on the street.  It just hangs out there on the asphalt, taunting her.  The motorcycle is gone, nowhere in sight.

    Veronica rests her chin in her hand and daydreams a little, the tinny music fading away from her consciousness.  And when her thoughts begin to drift to Duncan, and to the lovely, conflicted feelings the thought of him evokes, she forces herself to sit up straight and snap out of it.

    If only she could stop paying these little mental visits to ancient history.

_Compartmentalize, dammit. What would Sydney Bristow do?_

Old joke with herself.  Not as funny as it used to be.

    She sighs and checks her watch.  Nine-thirty.  A car passes by and she tenses, but it doesn't even slow down, and eventually the tail-lights disappear in the distance.  She slumps down in her seat again.

 _Not_ the best neighborhood, not the worst.  Probably no need to worry about a drive-by, but your basic carjacking isn't out of the question.  So of _course_ she always remembers to keep her doors locked.

    Which is why, when someone opens the passenger door and sits down beside her, she feels justified in shrieking and reaching for her taser.

    The intruder grabs her forearm in mid-reach.  Veronica gets a good look at him and gasps, "Weevil?"

    He turns her arm loose. "Hey. Veronica Mars. Ain't exactly your side of town, is it?"  He picks up the taser and pushes the buttons a few times, watching the electricity arc. Then he looks at her.  "You know, you really oughta lock your doors."

***

    "I swear," Weevil continues, while Veronica waits for her heart to dislodge itself from her throat, "You have got to be the _nosiest_ white girl I ever met." 

    Veronica draws a breath, tries to get her conversational balance.  "Oh, Eli. It's so sweet of you to notice."

    He doesn't laugh, doesn't smile, not a flicker.  Instead, he tosses the taser back into the console, looks away and says, "The car was my uncle's." 

    She waits until he turns to look at her again, then tries a head-tilt on him, just for old times' sake. "Excuse me? What car?"

    "Don't even go there. The Corvette. The reason you been following me around, asking questions, staking out my _house..._ "

    Oh. Damn. So much for discretion. So she drops the denial act. "Your uncle? Is he--"

    "He's ain't dead, no," Weevil says. "But he's doing a dime at MCC."

    Ten-year sentence, then; and MCC San Diego is a Federal prison, so figure one of the juicier felonies.  "This the uncle with the chop shop?"

    "Yeah. S'more complicated than that, though."

    "I wasn't going to ask."

    He glances sidelong at her, snorts.  "Like you won't just go find out on your own anyway."

    "I do have some respect, you know."  She says it as sincerely as she can.

    His expression eases a little, like maybe he believes her.  It's hard to tell.  He's going for this cleaner-shaven look lately but it's not making it any easier for a girl to get a read on him.

    "Anyway," he says, waving a hand dismissively, "that car was his favorite thing in the world.  Only thing the Feds didn't confiscate.  He signed it over to me after he was sentenced.  Said he didn't want it rotting in storage."  Faint smile.  "Said if I let anything happen to it he'll bust out of jail just to kick my ass."

    "How are you paying for the insurance?"  Veronica asks, too bluntly.

    He looks at her directly.  His expression is not friendly now.  "Why are you worryin' about it? For that matter, why you even here?"

    "Um--look," Veronica begins, a little at a loss for words.  She's not used to feeling less than justified in these situations.  "I was just curious, that's all.  I don't have some hidden agenda."

    "Yeah, right.  You _always_ got an agenda.  You figured the dumb gangbanger's getting himself in trouble again, he stole some car or he's gonna take up armed robbery to pay for it, right?"

    "No!" she snaps.  Then, quieter: "I never thought that..."

    Problem is, she's lying.  And they both know it.

    So she tries again.  "I don't think you're dumb."

    That much is true.  She's seen his standardized-test scores.

    Weevil shakes his head, opens his door.  "Come on," he says, and climbs out.

    Veronica hesitates for a second, then gets out on her side and looks at him across the roof of the car.  "Where are we going?"

    He gestures over his shoulder.  "Let's go for a drive."  He looks down his nose at her Chrysler. "Your car sucks."

    Then he turns and walks towards the Corvette.

    Veronica considers this.  "I'm not supposed to ride in cars with strange boys," she says, figuring the irony isn't lost on him.

    He turns around, spreads his arms wide in a gesture that invites the world to take its best shot. He says, "Then bring your taser."

    Then he turns on his heel and keeps walking; he doesn't wait to see if she follows.

    "My car does _not_ suck," she calls at his back, and grabs her purse.

    She leaves the taser.

***

    She's ridden in a lot of expensive cars but never a Corvette; inside it's so low-slung and horizontal you feel like you're settling down into a very comfortable leather kayak.  The long, heavy door thunks shut solidly and she's got about thirty seconds to think how dumb this is before Weevil gets in and turns the ignition.

    "Where're we going?" she asks again as they back out.  She knows that this whole thing is some kind of game between them and that she's losing points by asking.

    But she can't help herself.  It's her last farewell to common sense.

    Weevil shrugs.  "Does it matter?" he asks.

    "I guess not."  Which is the only answer she can give.  She got in the car of her own free will, and now she's got to play along or else admit to being nervous.

    And you never, _ever_ admit that.

    But there's not much of a strip in the Neptune area, even the bad parts of town are a little too suburban for that.  So there's really only one place anyone cruises, and that's the beach, and thus she's not surprised when they head west and then south on the PCH. 

    Veronica, of course, has cruised this beach at night many a time, in many a smooth-riding 09er vehicle.  But it's different tonight.  It's very dark out, only a sliver of a quarter-moon, and not much traffic at all.  Seems the Corvette's engineers weren't fanatical about shutting out road noise during this particular model year, and the engine purr is omnipresent.  But the sound is relaxing, like the sound of a heavy rain.

    Lilly loved storms.

    Veronica blinks back a memory--Lilly, leaning out her bedroom window: _Veronica! Come here and smell the rain!--_ and tries to figure out what she's doing here.  Her relationship with Weevil has never been much more than an uneasy alliance, and there was no reason for him to have made this strange overture and damned sure no reason for her to have gone along with it.

    Except--and this is thing she's been trying not to think about, she realizes now--she wants to know if he and Lilly were really together.  It's so hard to accept the idea of Lilly keeping something like Eli Navarro from her.  And maybe that's why she's been pushing it out of her head, ever since the day she overheard his session in the counselor's office.

    Did he get to see a side of Lilly she never even knew?

    And if so--how is that fair?

    Did Lilly actually _care_ at all about him?  She was flighty and mercurial and in love with life, but as far as Veronica knows she wasn't exactly the type to go randomly sleeping around behind Logan's back.  So did she see in Weevil something other than the stereotype, the walking cliche?  Could it possibly have been something _more_ than revenge against Logan or her mother?

    And if so, why did she end it?

    A thought occurs to Veronica:  maybe Lilly is the reason Weevil's here tonight, too, and maybe he doesn't know how to bring it up.

    Maybe she's been following her investigative instincts all along and didn't even realize it.

    They've been riding in silence, a silence that was becoming comfortable--until now, because all these thoughts have coalesced in her head, all at once, and suddenly her pulse is racing and the seatbelt is too tight, and she knows that she's not going to be able to keep it all inside.

    And with a total lack of finesse that's getting to be a bad habit, she turns to Weevil and blurts out:

    "I know about you and Lilly."

    And almost immediately regrets it.

    He doesn't say anything in response, doesn't even look at her.  He exhales and tightens his grip on the steering wheel a little, that's all.

    The words just linger there. Veronica winces.

    It's like all the air has been sucked out of the car's interior; and she has a moment, in that awful vacuum, to reflect on how badly she is fucking this one up.

    Then Weevil brakes and abruptly pulls the car off the road and into one of the little public lots overlooking the beach. And before Veronica can react to _that,_ he shuts off the engine and is out of the car and walking away, down to the sand.

    He's left the keys hanging in the ignition.

    "I am _so_ not going out there after him," Veronica says to the dashboard, after the initial moment of shock.

    Then she grabs the keys and goes out there after him.

***

   Veronica hurries down the little walkway to the sand, burning with curiosity and a sense of dread.  She's afraid this is going to be another ugly scene in a life that's already witnessed way too many; worried that she's going to be there to see Weevil coming completely undone and that he's going to hate her for it.

    But no way can she leave it alone now.

    And in the end she discovers him sitting on the beach under the night sky, leaning against the wooden post of a lifeguard tower, looking as calm as the windless ocean before him.

    Veronica pulls up short when she spots him.  She catches her breath a second, then moves closer, sits down on the sand next to him. Not too close.  She hugs her knees to her chest.

    So they sit there under the lifeguard tower, and she waits to see if he's going to say anything.  Moments pass.  The adrenaline of the situation starts to wear off, and she starts to be a little bit afraid.  She really shouldn't be out here.  There are distant lights up behind them on the walkway, and her eyes have adjusted pretty well, but everything is still shadowy and weird and she's woefully unarmed.  There's no one else in sight, and it's hard to say if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

    Silence.

    "Weevil--" she begins, but it just doesn't sound right in this context, out of school, away from witnesses. " _Eli--"_

"It's not about Lilly," he says.

    "It's not-- _what?_ "

    He looks at her. "You ever think, just maybe--not everything has to be some huge fuckin' mystery?"

    Well, _no_ , that doesn't often occur to her. "Uh--"

    "I _watch_ you watching everyone, you know," he goes on.  "I know how you are. Veronica Mars, girl detective.  You spend so much time trying to figure out everything that's happening with everyone else, and you miss so much that's going on right in front of you.  You don't even see it."

    "I do?" Veronica is sincerely perplexed.  "I mean, I don't?"

    "Lilly and I, okay, we had something," he says.  "And maybe it wasn't what I thought it was.  Maybe I'll never know now.  But she's gone and she's _been_ gone and it's like you just can't let go of it.  But you need to, Veronica, you gotta let her go and live your own life."

    Whole seconds spin out into nothingness as she sits there blinking, trying to make sense of what he's just said.

    _No._

    No fucking _way._

    The rage that's never far from the surface churns up inside Veronica, and for a moment she's so angry she can't see straight.  Then she scrambles to get her feet under her and moves backwards, putting space between them before she does something stupid.

    She glares down at him--he looks completely nonplussed--and just to buy time while she thinks of something _really_ insulting, she snaps, "Okay, _cholo,_ let me be perfectly clear here.  Just because you're okay with giving up on Lilly doesn't mean _I_ am.  So you can just spare me the fucking Dr. Phil-closure speech."

    No reaction on his face. He looks back out at the waves and shakes his head.  He laughs ruefully. "And she _still_ doesn't get it."

    She exhales an angry breath, crosses her arms in front of her.  "Fine.  Spell it out for me.  What are you saying?"

    He climbs to his feet, keeping his distance.  He looks down and absently dusts the sand from his palms before he speaks.  And when he does, the set of his jaw is hard but his voice is quiet:

    "I'm saying, it ain't about Lilly. Not everything's about Lilly. Sometimes it's just about _you._ "

    Veronica opens her mouth to speak but can think of nothing at all to say.  Her arms fall to her sides.  The anger inside her bursts like a soap bubble, and her mind adds up an unlikely chain of figures and comes to an even less likely conclusion.

    But the look on Eli's face tells her her math isn't wrong.

    And then he moves towards her, a pace at a time, giving her every chance to turn away if she's going to.  She glances over her shoulder, up to the road.  She could still outrun him, and she's got the car keys.  She could just leave.

    She doesn't.

    "I know you," Eli says, taking another step, then waiting again to see what she's going to do.  "You talk a good game.  Don't care what anybody thinks.  Don't need anybody.  I got that one down."

    Veronica freezes, just stares at him.

    "So tell me something," he says.  Another step.  "You _like_ being alone?"

    All her breath leaves her, and a tremor starts between her shoulder blades and spreads from there.  She tries to be still so he won't notice.

    And he's still standing there.  Waiting.

    She can't answer the question out loud, voice is just plain gone, but finally she shakes her head: _No_

    He takes the last step, looks down at her as she looks up at him. He's standing close enough that she can see the faint light of the moon glinting off his dark eyes, close enough that she can feel the warmth coming off him.

    She knows he's going to kiss her; and she knows, of a sudden, that she's going to let him.

    And when he does kiss her, taking her face in his fingertips, his lips just brush hers at first--until he feels her respond.  And then it's undeniably _happening_ , he's kissing her and she's kissing him, and it's soft and slow but it's _good_ , like they've both got the same basic idea how the kiss should go.  Not at all awkward, totally _simpático_ \--in a way that makes Veronica's heart jackhammer against her chest, makes her breath come too quick.

    In a blink, it changes from sweet to hot.  She doesn't remember opening her lips to Eli's, but somehow she has, and their tongues are good together, too.  He's still being careful with her, almost polite, like he's worried about scaring her by being too pushy; but he trails a hand down her back and then locks the fingers of both hands behind her waist to pull her closer.  His touch down her back draws a little shiver.  His muscled arms make her feel even tinier.  She slides her hands up to the back of his smooth neck; pulls him down hard against her mouth.

    Scares herself a little, doing that, after the fact.  Her brain has gone away and her body has taken over, desperate for touch. _His_.

    How on earth did this happen?  It doesn't even matter now, because he hauls her up closer against him and she moves with it, wanting it.  Still kissing her, he moves his right hand up to touch her face again, the pad of his thumb along her jawline; and then he runs the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, sucking it between both of his, teasing her.

    She whimpers, deep in the back of her throat, and her knees go a little unsteady.  She pulls him down again, finds his tongue with her own.  He inhales sharply when she does that, which just makes her want to kiss him harder and deeper.

    Wasn't _like_ this with Troy.  Wasn't like this with anybody, ever, except maybe Duncan; and he didn't have this sweet dark edge to him, and he damned sure wasn't this confident right at the start.

    And maybe it's the cover of night, giving them a needful anonymity, letting them both be someone else for a while: here in the darkness they're both just kids for a minute, not old beyond their years and cagey because they have to be.  Two teenagers sharing their first dizzying, shaky kiss on the beach on a starless night.  And at the same time trying to catch hold of something that isn't all that easy for either of them to find anywhere else.  Needing to feel like there's someone else out there, in that _other_ dark, the dark that follows them both around.

    Things are spinning out of control now, she's digging fingers into his back while he's kissing the hollow of her throat, and his warm breath there makes her shiver again. She whimpers again, and all at once she becomes aware of how loud and fast her breathing is, and it kind of freaks her out.

    She tries to pull away backwards, and after a second he lets her go.  She stands there panting.  They both are.  "Okay," she gasps. "Wait--"

    "Okay," he says.  He holds up his hands and takes a big breath, lets it out. "Okay."

    "Okay," she repeats.  "Just--"

    But he's still staring at her with an intensity that makes it hard to calm down.  She says, "You know what? Never mind." And she moves towards him again.

    But this time _he_ takes a step backwards and sort of stops her, taking her by the shoulders. She looks at him quizzically. 

    They stand there for a heartbeat before he says, "It's late. You gotta be getting home soon anyway, don't you?"

    Confusion.  She tries to play it off, smiles back.  "That's... mighty chivalrous of you."

    He looks around meaningfully.  "Public beach.  Sheriffs do a sweep every couple hours."

    Oh.  Yes.  Common sense.  She remembers what it was like, having that.

    Not that she would have--out here.  With him.  On the beach.  Even down here in the shadows...

    Actually, she's not sure _what_ she was liable to do, just then.  Which gets her scared again.  She doesn't like feeling out of control.  It's not a feeling she's familiar with.

    Except that for that once.  At the party.

    She smiles again.  Brushes aside the old, scarred-over memory.

    "You're right," she says brightly. "Of course you are."  She reaches down to pick up her purse where it's fallen on the sand.  _No_ idea what's going on or what just happened.  She realizes, in retrospect, that she kind of lost her grip on the situation the moment he climbed into her car, and she hasn't really gotten it back.  She reaches to hand him the car keys, holding them out at arm's length.  Keeping her distance, trying to ward off faint embarrassment.

     But Eli takes them from her and then pulls her over to him.  He kisses her once, simply, knocking the sense and the breath right out of her again.

    "That's hardly fair," she says, after.

    "Tough," he says. And: "Listen, one thing.  At least between you and me--tonight _happened._ "

And that's another scary thought.  She knows she's not managing to keep the apprehension off her face.  So she smiles and wrinkles her nose cutely.  "I don't know.  I don't really _do_ bad boys, you know.  Because there's the dreary calls in the middle of the night for bail money, and the eventual restraining orders, and--"

    He pulls her closer, rests his forearms loosely on her shoulders.  "Sounds like you got yourself a problem, then.  'Cause I got a thing for nosy little white chicks."

    She laughs, and then she knows he has her, and that's she's not going to be able to forget the way he's making her feel right now.  There are so many reasons this is a really bad idea, and she can't seem to care.

    Except--

    "Okay," she says. "Between you and me.  But at _school_ \--"

    "I know, I know," he says dismissively. "You got your reputation to think of."

    And they both have to laugh at that. But at least, she figures, they understand each other.

    He puts a hand on her shoulder as they start to walk back up to the car.

    "Eli?" she says as they walk, secretly savoring his real name and also cursing herself for being such a _girl_. "There's one other thing."

    "Yeah?"

    "Sometime--I have to tell you _why_ I haven't given up.  About Lilly. There's a lot you don't know."

    He just looks at her, eyebrows raised.

    "Yes," she says. "Not tonight.  But soon."

***

    She sneaks into the house way late and totally gets away with it; Dad's already snoring on the couch in front of a _Walker, Texas Ranger_ rerun.

    But come Friday morning, Veronica has to work hard to contain herself.  She may possess a certain ironic cheerfulness most of the time, but she's pretty sure her father will notice if she appears to be actually _giddy._

    She feels like Molly Ringwald going to school the day after hooking up with John Bender.

    Not that she and Eli _have_ any defined relationship--all they'd agreed on was _not_ to pretend those few kisses hadn't happened.  And that's not much.  And there's also the fact that the cynical, planning part of her mind just keeps thinking it'll be that much easier now to get Eli to help her out when she needs him.

    Still, she lingers in the parking lot, sitting on the trunk of her car, pretending to go over some class notes.  Waiting for the growl of the Corvette engine.

    But that never occurs.  Eli rides up on his motorcycle instead.

    Veronica frowns and looks twice to be sure.  He parks across the lot, two of his boys on their bikes next to him, and he just winks at her as he walks past, and continues on up to school.

    It's enough to drive you crazy.  But she _did_ ask him to keep things on the down-low. And being seen with each other is just about the last thing either of them need.  Besides, it's no one's business.

    But where, dammit, is the stupid car that started this whole thing?

    She catches him in the hall at lunchtime. "Weevil," she says, "I need to talk to you."  Short and fast because Felix is watching intently.  Not at all sure that boy doesn't have a _crush_ on Eli, come to think of it.  "Business," she adds meaningfully.

    "Metal shop's empty right now," he says, and steers her that direction.

    Leaving poor Felix looking confused.

***

    There's a moment of confusion at the shop door when they _both_ take out tools to shiv open the lock. Veronica laughs, and Eli says, "No, please. Be my guest," waving a hand at the door.

    "Sucha gentleman," Veronica murmurs while she picks the lock.  "And we're on _your_ turf and everything."

    The lock gives, and they go inside, making sure the door locks again behind them.  Inside it's darkish, and smells of ozone and oil and tools.

    "How romantic," Veronica snarks.

    "Gotta take what you can get," Eli replies.

    And only then does Veronica realize that he might have interpreted _business_ the wrong way.

    "Eli--" she starts, before he totally gets the wrong idea.

    But he's already taken hold of her hands, and he raises the left one to his mouth and kisses the back of her fingers, a gesture so simple and yet totally unexpected it completely derails her train of thought. Probably for the next decade.

    "Um," she says.

    "Yeah?"

    "Um. Okay, this is all right instead," she says, and lets him pull her into a kiss.

    And thus ends up a short while later up on one of the countertops, feet dangling, Eli up against her and kissing her, his hands all over her back. And she's getting a feel herself for just how firm those biceps and trapezius muscles really are. _God._ Nice of him to wear this clingy knit shirt today, it's really helping her keep her head around him. Not.

    Didn't get muscles like that from playing water polo, that's for sure.

    Eli breaks the kiss and slides his hands down to rest on her hips; he leans in closer and breathes hotly against her neck, just under her right earlobe, his lips barely brushing the skin.

    "Damn," she says, all over goosebumps. "Okay. Stop."

    He stops, takes a breath, leans his forehead against her neck. "Kinda getting mixed signals here," he mumbles.

    "Well, I'm a complicated girl," she says sweetly. "You can hardly claim you didn't know what you were getting into."

    He backs off, doesn't really seem too put out. He just takes a step backwards, shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks at her expectantly.

    Oh yeah. She actually had a point here, somewhere.

    "Okay," she says. She hops off the counter, which puts her back at a minor height disadvantage. She takes a deep breath and plants her hands on her hips. "Where the hell is the Corvette?"

    He grins. "You kidding me? Like I could even afford the insurance payments on that thing." He rolls his eyes in an _oh-the-humanity_ kind of way.

    "What? You got _rid_ of it? What about your uncle?"

    His smile gets wider. "What about him? He doesn't need it. He drives one of those Jap cars. Mitsubishi or something."

    She stares at him, walks through it step by step in her head.

    While he keeps grinning.

    "Okay," she says. "Fine. So you invented the story about the poor uncle in prison. But I _saw_ the registration. The car was in your name."

    He makes a _tch_ sound and shakes his head in mock sorrow. "Eli's a _family_ name. Big family. Lotta cousins. One of them owed me a favor."

    She's actually speechless a moment, her mouth hanging open in an very unladylike way.

    "I don't _believe_ this," she breathes. "So you borrowed the car, hid your bike, and then you acted all shifty at school."

    "Yeah." Totally matter-of-fact about it.

    "You." She pokes him in the chest with an index finger. "You _set me up_. And I fell for it."

    He grabs the offending hand at the wrist. "Made you pay attention, didn't it?"

    "There's a good possibility I'm going to have to kill you now."

    "Yeah, I'm shaking." He shrugs and pulls her over to him. "Kiss me first. Maybe you can catch me off guard, get your big chance."

***

Later on that night they sit in her car overlooking the same stretch of beach. Veronica tells Eli everything she knows about Lilly Kane's murder, while he listens quietly. And it feels good to tell someone, to truly feel like someone has her back. Her father doesn't want her involved. It's too heavy for Wallace. Logan is canny and occasionally resourceful, but he's got a real problem with lashing out--like that scene at the sheriff's office--and he's got other things to deal with right now.

    Duncan is too close to the problem. And maybe _part_ of the problem.

    But Eli listens intently. His eyes narrow when she mentions the photos with her face in the crosshairs, but he doesn't say anything.

    She leaves out nothing--except the issue of her paternity.

    And the party.

    She finishes up by explaining about the shoe and Abel Koontz and his fatal illness, while Eli's expression grows more and more grim.

    "You're not making this stuff up." A statement, not a question.

    "I'm really not. But here." She pulls out the thin manila envelope. It contains the photos, the news stills. Copies of documents. Her life, or at least the pieces into which it shattered.

    But he just holds it, doesn't open it. "I shouldn't have said the stuff I said to you, last night. About letting it go. I didn't know."

    She shrugs. "I shouldn't have brought up you and Lilly. It was none of my business."

    And even saying it, she kind of hopes he'll take the cue and tell her about what happened between them, because she _is_ still curious.

    But he just takes her hand and says, "Looks like we're even."

    So he's going to keep some secrets of his own.

    Veronica can respect that.

    For now.


End file.
